Weird West 04 - The Doctor and the Dinosaurs Read Online Free

eat whatever's available.”
    “I agree,” said Buntline, leaning against an empty bookcase. “I hadn't thought of that.”
    “What does one of these things actually look like?” asked Holliday.
    “Ned, you're the artist,” said Edison.
    Buntline got a pen and a pad of paper and began sketching a carnosaur baring its teeth. When he was done he handed it to Holliday.
    “Mean-looking critter,” opined the dentist. “How big is he?”
    “Oh, probably eight to ten times larger than a horse.”
    “Suddenly that sanitarium is looking a lot better to me,” said Holliday.

H OLLIDAY WAS NOT HAPPY . The Bunt Line, the horseless coach created by Ned Buntline, terminated at Fort Collins, and he'd had to buy and ride a horse the rest of the way to Cheyenne. He was not fond of horses; he didn't like their smell, he didn't enjoy riding them, and he had a sneaking suspicion that most of them were just waiting for him to fall off so they could trample him.
    He passed out of a sparse forest onto flat, almost barren land, and saw a sign posted that he was three miles from Cheyenne. At least then he could sell the horse and hunt up a horse-drawn stagecoach that would take him to the two paleontologists’ camps. First, though, he planned to stop at a saloon and slake his seemingly endless thirst. He had a canteen, of course, but he figured that water was for bathing, whiskey was for drinking, and only a fool mixed the two up.
    As he entered town he sought out the main street, rode up to the first saloon he could find, thankfully climbed down off his horse, and entered the place. The interior had the usual wooden tables and chairs, a faro game in the back that no one seemed interested in, and spittoonsnot just lining the bar but spread through the saloon. There was a huge picture of a shirtless man with his fists doubled up, hanging behind the bar, covering part of a long mirror, and Holliday studied it as he waited for the bartender to approach him.
    “What do you think of him?” asked a man who was standing next to him.
    “I prefer paintings of naked ladies,” answered Holliday.
    “That's our local champion, Bill Smiley,” said the man proudly. “He's the one who's going to knock the great John L. down for the count this afternoon.”
    “Seems to me that people have been trying to do that for twelve or thirteen years now,” replied Holliday, obviously unimpressed.
    “Well, Smiley's the man who can do it,” said the man adamantly. “And he's bringing the championship to Wyoming,” he added, his chest swelling with pride.
    “If you say so,” responded Holliday, trying to cut off any further discussion.
    “You think otherwise?”
    “I'm a stranger here,” said Holliday. “I have no idea.”
    “I've got fifty dollars says that Smiley wins,” said the man pugnaciously, pulling out a fifty-dollar bill and waving it around.
    “I'll take that bet,” said Holliday, pulling out his own cash.
    The expressions of the onlookers said he was throwing his money away, that no intruder was going to beat their local hero on his own turf.
    “We'll let the bartender hold it,” said the man.
    “Fine by me,” said Holliday.
    “I just hope that damned ref isn't as blind as he looks,” muttered the man. “Whoever heard of a referee with spectacles?”
    “Spectacles?” repeated Holliday.
    “Yeah.”
    Suddenly Holliday smiled. “Is he from New York?”
    “That's what they say, though I hear he spent some time in the Dakota Badlands pretending to be a cowboy.”
    “Son of a bitch, I know him!” exclaimed Holliday. “I'll be damned!”
    “If you're who I think you are, that's a given,” said the man.
    The saloon suddenly went completely silent, and every head turned toward Holliday. He stared at the man, then shrugged. “What the hell,” he muttered. “When you're right, you're right. Now, when and where is this fight?”
    “Maybe an hour from now, out there by Jake Gilmore's corral,” said the man, walking him to